Soul's Hemorrhage
by Kopri
Summary: Manas. We always walk away from the mind. Edward is mental in another kind of way, he uses to much of his brain. Bella is intertwined in words that can't be understood. They see each other. Catastrophic fires begin to burn. Drinking sex. Gliding fingers.
1. Prologue: Soul's Hemorrhage

Soul's Hemorrhage

Prologue

He didn't know what to do…he never did. The shadow started to descend and the light to increase, he should be happy, it's light. Well light is the very death of him…dare say were there's light there's a bigger shadow. All the broken toys, all the little houses, here comes the summer of broken lovers, all he wants to do is live. Scream and _feel _the pain and find him self. Help me for it's to late…he cried a cry nor of fear but of _regret. _He inclined his head and awaited for the cold gun to once again shoot…

"I was the one" The voice said.

_Bam_…

* * *

I don't know what I'm doing and I enjoy that. Stick with me. Write a word.


	2. Goat

**Chapter 1**

Goat

-----------------------------

"Not again. _Not, not, not_." Cleaning the sheen sweat of his forehead, Edward stood up from the now broken card box and walked farther into the rat hole, _his _rat hole. Carlisle, the priest, his father, and another asshole at that, who could not be asked who his God was, for he didn't know was the provider. Sleeping in a card box and thinking, thinking, thinking.

__

Sweat. I'm sweating. That is good, he thought. Irony was not taken lightly. Now he was thinking to himself.

Lifting the can of saline water, while looking at it in pure disgust, Edward drowned his always scowling face and distorted mouth, trying to at least get rid of the stale flavor to another point on himself, to his throat, because they couldn't even afford to waste dirty water. As a kid, Edward couldn't remember thinking how he would end up, but if one thing he was sure of, this was certainly not the place where he would find himself. His childhood was one of hard times and awkward joys; as he now descended down the stairs there was not an ounce of trace, of memory from those days. The only thought of everything was on his mind, no sense to them attached.

_I make sense. We make sweet sense._

He couldn't do much while so frustrated: the same thing happened every single time. Someone argued, someone brought him to his knees, someone made him regret. You could say, you could say, he kept quiet; at least he applied that to his mind. There's always common sense in us.

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He felt more dirty while going down the stairs, so he just went right back up. Through the window out of what came Ron. Can't know the start of a conversation_. _

_Can you, Edward?_

"Really? Because I don't feel it." _Skeptical. Stay. Skeptical,_ passed through Edward's mind. But he stayed skeptical. Don't find out, don't notice, go away,

"I'm telling you: there's a raft right here." Ron pointed_ there. _

"Ron?" Since Edward didn't particularly know what to do in response to the statement, he questioned, something that he learned trough time. Always question because there never really is an answer.

"Look, I'm not making this fuck up. Ok?" _No answer, _Edward assured to himself, of course.

"I'm not saying you are, I'm saying I actually believe everything you're pointing out." Edward finally said.

__

No, I don't.

Lie_._

_Erasing._

"Yeah, sure. Whatever."

"The balls bounce, Ron."

_One goes higher all the time, one day I'm going to stop them, not just one._

"Edward. Raft. Ok?" _Yeah. Yeah. No._

"He doesn't give shit about me, and why the fuck am I whining? Stop asking questions." _Questions that lie. Questions fall apart and I have to fix them. I have to fix everything._

"Look man…I'm going to get going. Sometimes _this _is to messed up for my brain"

"Fuck you."

__

That always comes out, Edward noticed.

And really, that was all Ron expected from Edward. He was young, and so was he, but Ron had a way of not ignoring things. Edward didn't give shit to a thing besides "the thing". He couldn't stand anything. Messed up and crucified.

_Jesus Christ._

_Bloody cakes and splinters on a dog_. His head was fucked liked that. You try to explain to him how to go somewhere and he flies up and ends up better, better being hell for , just sometimes, he could organize his thoughts in an actual order, but that was rare. Rare was not Edward. Edward was not rare.

Shuffling his feet from side to side in an off pattern he could feel the particular raft, the raft he wished was non-existent. In his mind he always knew it was there, never wanting to accept it was. Through that not so round absence of wood and plastic was his liberation. He would look outside and breathe; do you know what he smelled? Fear. Edward sometimes laughed using another person's voice in his head to laugh at that. Edward had no fear. How could he? When he had no redemption whatsoever, what's up with that?

__

No sense.

_No sense._

_No fucking sense._

_Sen-----------------se._

"Ugh" Went Edward from the pull of the little man's rope, a rope that pulled and pulled until he got no air and started to think. _It hurts,_ he thought. It will always hurt; he will always think it hurts, because he will always think until the day he shall die. Because Edward knew that when he eventually died, his brain was going to be removed, society to afraid of the things that would crawl in there and come out to eat and repulse.

_Goats._

"Mary had a little goat"_ I always wanted a goat._

You see he never got one, he never asked for one. He himself actually knew that if he did, the goat wouldn't last long.

_Die goat, die._

_-------------------------------------------------------------_

"Father McKenzie, I don't understand. What _exactly _are you trying to say?" Up the stairs and down through the only existent hallway in that place, stood the only two priests in the place.

"I'm saying that your supposedly human son killed my dogs!" The priest spat the words; he was utterly repulsed. _Dogs, really? _

"Well, that's insane!" Not being so sure of its credibility, this was just what Carlisle said.

"_You _are insane, you and him! Both!"

"Now, now…things don't need to get out of hand, do they?"

Matters always get out of hand; they're never there in the first place. When words slip from the fingers and go through blood to the mouth, they're already so far gone they can never be caught. Carlisle knew this._ Maybe _I am _insane._

"He killed them! This should be reported and it is your primary responsibility!"

"Now, Father, let's not forget your little incident; we wouldn't want to get anybody in trouble here, would we?" Playing the dirty card was Carlisle specialty, his uncle Aro always told him of the many convenient and useful powers of manipulation, and Carlisle never ceased to let that go to waste.

"That boy was under my special care. That's what I did: take care of him" _Tsk, tsk._

"Oh yes…a man who took care of his needs. Involuntarily, Father?"

"I hope you're not implying anything here, Carlisle?"

_Ah. Was he? _

He was. He couldn't believe he had forgotten how beautifully enjoyable this was. Never go too far though.

Never.

"For all I know this conversation never happened, Father"

"Well, isn't that new podium lovely!"

"Aha…very _lovely_ indeed."

_Never._

**----------------------------------------------------**

**Write me a word. Next chapter is one of less than good nature. Don't go away. I'll sorrow.**

**Thanks to Mia.**

**And.**

**Just so you know…I'm human. ^_^**

**Kopri.**

**Disclaimer: Twilight no es mio.**


	3. Bird's Hexagon

**Chapter 2**

Bird's Hexagon

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Bella. (Isa)

_Society. The inescapable concept of people. The thing that subconsciously terrifies us the most. The eternal feeling that we are being followed. The thing that makes you sweat. The cry that springs in your voice and turns as solid as a rock. The thing is not to get away; it's to try and stay. And we can't just be there, a reason has to exist. There is no reason, you see, it's all bull shit. _

_---------------_

"You should at least fake a smile." _Be true to the words already written. _Paris asked this question.

"Why?" It's just too easy. That is, to be a troubled human being, one of the many lines society doesn't cross publicly. P-u-b-l-i-c-l-y. A lot of people, a lot of people watching: an illusion for the weak. They're all weak.

"Because it's what you do. Get a nose ring, eat food, bump into people, and fake a smile." No interpretation needed.

Maybe interpretation is God.

_Ache._

"Mh. You're funny, Paris." Who can guess the answer? Sometimes emotions tend to disappear in the sphere of rhythm. The beat of a living is too fast and inconsistent to be labeled by words. Overused, wasted, invented words…emotions. Feelings.

"And yet you're not laughing, Isa."_ Make a sound._

"Hm…" _Good enough._

_For_

_You._

"Yeah, well, I hope you at least flash something at her then, 'cause she isn't giving you no job with that face." She made the world spin a little faster. Sometimes we need to be outside the hexagon of birds. Probably travel to space.

"Isn't she a woman?" Woman, because man can't fly. Feminism. Racism. Those things are just nonexistent. They belong, they were created in society; together to endure the same twisted fate.

"Yeah. But it doesn't matter no shit: she'll appreciate it." Maybe she will. We always want something more. This the only time when we step away from weeds of society.

"Ah…"

"And stop saying society; it's one of those words." The kind that repeats itself alone?

"Am I voicing aloud? I'll cease the word, then." Shutting up is a command not meant to be whispered to the wind. It creates thunder meant for a seed, but it just goes until it can.

"The sun is here."

_Say hello._

_To _

_It._

"I don't know. I think it's a fake light."

"Just lay down for now, Isa. We'll go, not now."

_Later?_

No

_Leave _

_It._

It's…

…just.

Not

_Now._

-------------------

Short is a society term. Its soul is just resting. It's complicated, yes. But those things are the most beautiful in life. Not meant to be understood, just there.

Dedicated to… Mia. Sounded like her.

Do you live in society?

Kopri.


End file.
